


at first glance.

by paokous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, CRUSHES ARE DUMB!!!!, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Goth Shiro (Voltron), Jock Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, it's mutual but they don't know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-12-18 18:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18255029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paokous/pseuds/paokous
Summary: He runs into a wall wearing leather -- something about that thought doesn't seem right. Keith's hands press against firm muscle. Do walls have a strong jawline, piercings, and the prettiest eyes he's ever seen? The wall apologizes.Fuck.--In which Keith crushes hard and has no idea that Shiro's crushing even harder.





	1. at first glance.

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i was held at gunpoint to write this. (no, i wasn't. thank you for letting me write this out with you.) don't know if i'll write more, but please enjoy this little tidbit. ish.
> 
> thanks for inspiring the jock!keith & goth!shiro au, franki!!!

Another day with the same old routine.

 

Wake up, go to his classes, attend football practice. _Stare at the gorgeous man dressed in black_.

 

His eyes are drawn to the figure sitting a few rows away from him, catching sight of the gleam of his piercings and the sway of the silver that dangled. Keith doesn't know why he lets out a sigh, but he does. It can't be longing. (From him? He's never experienced any kind of longing before.) There's no leather jacket on him today, simply a plain black tee. A tight, plain black tee.

 

' _ **God, it's tight**_ _. Why is it so tight_?' It shouldn't be this difficult to stifle the whimper threatening to pass through. His body's desire to let the noise out disappears, and he relaxes as much as he can. Violet eyes dart away from the handsome sight and back to the board only to find his attention shifting right back over his shoulder. His gaze travels the v-line of the built man's shirt, and his fingers suddenly feel the phantom press of firm muscle beneath them. Keith hears the soft, low murmur of a whispered apology close to his ear, and his entire face flushes.

 

 _Fuck, fuck, **FUCK**_. 

 

It's been two  _weeks_ , and he still hears it as clear as day. Still remembers how it had felt to collide against the taller man. Remembers his dumb,  _dumb_ hands wandering and accidentally feeling his classmate up in a daze. (Why did he ever think there'd be a wall where students pass through?) He was so close at the time, Keith swore he could've counted the man's lashes. How did one encounter manage to shake him so thoroughly?

 

What is it about the man draped in sleek black that makes his knees wobble when nothing in his life has  _ever_ made him feel so flustered? Nothing's ever truly fazed him before. Not even when Lance took his duffel bag and left him wandering the halls in a towel during their trip up the mountains with the rest of the team. (Damn Allura for bringing him along.) Not even the time his mom caught him with his hand down his pants at the tender age of sweet sixteen when he had been exploring his own options.

 

Yet, here he is. One glance at the quiet man dressed in leather pants, and he falls harder. Keith's relieved that none of his friends had decided to take this class with him, or else he'd truly be suffering. He could already imagine the teasing simpers and feigned longing glimpses they'd make in his direction. Lance, batting his eyelashes like some whimsical teen discovering their first crush. Hell, they'd even go out of their way to try and  _catch_  the silent man's attention. (It's for  _him_ , they'd claim.) At least in this situation, Keith could quietly mourn the loss of a possible connection instead of being tortured and humiliated by one Lance McClain and possible Pidge Holt. Not even Allura would be able to stop her boyfriend's inane desires to meddle. And Hunk? Hunk would only be able to give Keith a pitying smile. 

 

His gaze lingers as his mind continues to wander. He wants to hear his voice again, to get close enough to -- 

 

Dark eyes meet his in a brief moment. 

 

Keith is frozen. He swears his heart stops as they stare at one another. His breath hitches, fingers clenched into fists.  _Holy shit_. This hasn't happened before. Are they making eye contact as long as he's imagining it or did time come to a still? Even when his pretty classmate's glance is averted, he finds his heart still pounding erratically. He swallows down a nervous gulp, hand coming up to tug at the collar of his shirt. ( _What just happened_?) It felt like a bolt of lightning struck him, as if his staring's been acknowledged and judged properly. Maybe he had just been taking a look around the class to gauge everyone else's behavior during the lecture. There could be no other explanation. 

 

Keith's convincing himself well enough until those same clear eyes meet his again. (This isn't a coincidence.) Keith's shoulders stiffen, back rigid as he wills himself to look away. Break the contact casually. ' _Don't let him know you've been staring at him **the entire time**._' Is he gaping? He purses his lips to make sure his expression is one of absolute remiss and not one with adoring purpose. Keith swears he sees the corner of painted lips tilt into a small simper. He feels himself die a little on the inside.

 

....Did he just mouth ' _hey_ ' at Keith? 

 

The abrupt jostling of notes and students standing break the most intimate contact Keith has ever made in his life. Class is dismissed, and he's sure the gorgeous boy that sat two columns over and one row up is gone by now. He can't help but turn his cheek towards the seat as he's packing away himself only to find the other taking their leisure time getting up and ready to head out. The weird, tingling sensation simmering in his belly explodes. 

 

Maybe this is his chance.

 

It  **has** been two weeks since the incident, and he's clearly still on a high just from catching brief glimpses of the tall, taller man. Initiating contact would mean a chance to know if they were truly compatible. As friends. Good, good friends. Maybe even great friends _!!_ That's it. Keith swallows down the nerves that threaten to get him slaughtered and pulls the strap of his backpack over a shoulder before casually making his way down the aisle to where his...possible near future acquaintance is. His narrow-minded goal muffles the sound of the confused call of his name at the lecture hall's doorway. He forgets that a few of his friends wait for him to get off this class to grab lunch in his moment of  _slightly_ wavering courage. 

 

Keith's staring at the seated man, startling the poor soul once he realizes there's someone in his way from standing up. Keith's vision travels from the stylish black combat boots (How  _tall_ are those?) all the way up to the silver chain hanging around his classmate's thick neck. The streak of white in his dark, dark hair gives his undercut an even better visual of resolved beauty. The man has taste and knows how he wants to be seen, and Keith appreciates it. He desperately wants to lift this man up into his arms and carry him out. 

 

"Hi." 

 

His voice stills after that, unable to process another word once their gazes meet one another. He's panicking. He didn't think this through. 

 

"Hey."

 

Shit. Fuck. That stupidly low and husky voice. Can a voice be handsome? Hot? How do you describe voices? He's never tried to before. He's despairing now over the lack of adjectives he can come up with to describe the allure of what he had just heard. His eyes follow the line of the other's mouth and watches as it curves into the hottest smirk he's ever seen on anyone. Ever.

 

Keith blanks. 

 

"I was starting to wonder when you'd make your move and come talk to me." 

 

...Wait,  _what_?

 

His throat's unbelievably dry. "W-...What do you mean?"

 

His answer seems to throw the stylish man's expression off. A look of revelation slackens attractive features, ending the confident simper with the slightest hint of pink dashing contoured cheeks. (Why are his cheeks contoured? Or is that just how they are naturally?) Embarrassment follows, and Keith can't help but find the man more and more irresistible.

 

"Oh! Well, uh..you've been looking at me. For awhile now. I didn't know why, so I was kind of waiting for  _you_ to make a--" 

 

He's stunning and rambling, and Keith  _can't stop staring_. 

 

' _Holy shit, he's cute._ ' 

 

"Sorry. Maybe I read it wrong. It's just b--"

 

" _No_ , uh...." Keith smacks his lips together, feeling the heat grow from his face all the way to his ears. "No, you're right. I have been. Staring. Sorry." He sounds like a creep, but Keith would sooner admit to it than make his heart's latest obsession feel like he's misinterpreted his longing gazes. If anything, he could rectify his behavior by introducing himself and becoming friends. (Just friends.) His hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly. 

 

"I just, um...think you're cool." He pauses briefly, taking in the look of soundless surprise. "I'm Keith. We bumped into each other..a while back." Two weeks. Two weeks ago, but he wasn't about to out himself for having such a clear memory of the event. "You apologized, but I never did. So...sorry. About that." 

 

"It's all right. It was just an accident." He didn't expect to see the cool man falter and flush, but Keith finds himself enjoying their every interaction thoroughly. "I'm Takashi, but my friends call me Shiro. So, call me...Shiro."

 

Faint laughter parts Takashi's lips. Shiro's. Friend. He can call him Shiro because Shiro just implied that they could be friends. What an incredible moment. He'll remember this for the rest of his life. He's speaking before he can process what's coming out of his mouth through his brain.

 

"Hey, you wouldn't want to...hang out sometime? Maybe? We could trade notes for..." Shit. What class did they just have? "....Communications. I don't really have a buddy in here, and it'd be nice to have someone." 

 

A buddy. Him. He's never looked for a buddy in class, ever. 

 

Shiro looks at him with what looks like unabashed reverence, but it might just be his heart overthinking it all. (You're looking really stupid right about now, Keith.) A smile lingers on the man with broad,  _broad_ shoulders, and he tilts his head just the slightest. "That'd be nice. I don't know anyone in here either. There's that project Professor Iverson talked about coming next week, if you don't mind being partners with me." 

 

Partners.

 

"Yeah _!!_ " He blurts out an answer in haste, clutching onto the strap of his backpack harder. "Sounds great. I have practice every day since it's football season, but I promise I'll be a good partner." Someone make him stop talking. Why is he giving out so much unnecessary information? 

 

"I'm sure you'll be amazing." Keith sees amusement lace Shiro's features, and he resists the urge to sigh out loud. "You play football? That's intense. It must take a lot out of you to keep up training and playing on the field." 

 

"I've been playing since high school. You get used to the routine. Still aches." He adds on at the end, causing a chuckle to slip out of his newly found friend. "I'm sure you know, though. You're uh...."

 

How is he supposed to say what he wants to say without sounding like he's been  _eyeing_ Shiro and his clearly fit form? 

 

"I work out." He takes a step to the side to let Shiro stand, and it throws him off just how much taller he is now than the last time they ran into each other. (Those  _damn_ boots that make his legs look so,  _so_ good.) "Hey, maybe we can work out together at one point. There's a gym on campus. If you're up for it."

 

" _Keith_!!"

 

He ignores the call of his name. "Yeah. Yeah, good plan."

 

"Great." A piece of paper slips between his fingers, and Keith grasps onto it. "Just shoot me a text whenever. I'll see you around." 

 

Keith's heart is beating a mile a minute, and he's never been this happy. He swears he's never been this happy before. He opens up the slip of paper and peeks to find a number scrawled on it. He can't stop the dopey smile threatening to curve his lips. Shiro passes through Keith's friends crowding at the door.

 

Making his way out of the lecture hall, Shiro flashes a smile at the familiar short brunette. He gives her a high-five as he scoots pass the others. "Hey, Pidge. Say hi to Matt for me."

 

"I'm pretty sure you'll see him before I do." Pidge snorts, offering a grin in the older man's direction. He finishes off their conversation with a laugh and waves as he exits into the crowd of students filling the corridor. Lance gapes. 

 

"...What just happened?"

 

 

Once he rounds the corner, Shiro presses himself up against the rough edges of the communications building before letting out a whimper. His entire face is red. He did it. He gave his number to the pretty man that always sits two columns over and one row down. He has to tell Matt, but he's almost certain a little freshman will get to it before he does.

 

His soul is crying from pure happiness. _Keith_ thinks  **he's** cool.

 

Shiro can't wait for the rest of the semester.


	2. accidentally in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back & this time i wasn't held at gunpoint to write this, so i have no one to blame but myself. but i just had to write,,,, more pining & cute accidental kisses,,,

Shiro can't even begin to comprehend why the man with pretty violet eyes continues to sit next to him every class without fail. Their project's been complete for two weeks now. Though he had previously found it difficult to believe that Keith wanted to retain some semblance of friendship, his current company proves him to be very,  _very_  wrong. 

 

It's close to eleven at night, but there sat Keith directly across from him. In his apartment. 

 

It's quiet-- only the muffled sound of a video playing on Keith's laptop can be heard along with the soothing clicks of his keyboard. Though their class activities can now be done independently, they've elected to remain what Shiro calls ' _homework buddies_ '. He wants to think it's their compatibility in personalities that has kept the athlete here, but the doubt says otherwise. Shiro, in all honesty, has no idea why Keith has willingly decided to stay in contact with him.  **Not a single clue**.

 

' _Maybe it's the workout session we had a week ago?_ ' Shiro muses, pen tapping along his notebook. No, that can't be right. Keith is on the  _football_ _team_. There's no reason for him to seek out a gym partner outside of his own group. Even if he admits that training with the football player had proved to motivate and inspire him to do even better that morning. He can't be certain the feelings are mutually exclusive. 

 

Dark eyes travel over to the man before him, a small smile quirking the corners of his lips as Keith's brows furrow. He watches callous fingers reach up and tuck loose strands of midnight hair behind an ear before his gaze is drawn towards the subtle bite along his lower lip as his  _friend's_ expression shifts into silent concentration. He's breathtaking. 

 

' _M_ _aybe he likes you back._ ' 

 

Well, isn't  _that_ just the strangest and boldest suggestion his brain has ever made?

 

He resists the urge to scoff out loud and misses it by a fraction, the noise attracting Keith's attention. The questioning stare on him has his heart skipping a beat, though the only thing he offers is a curious look of his own. Keith purses his lips, as if to swallow down the hint of a smile. "Something wrong, Shiro?"

 

 _God_ , he's beautiful.

 

He's just as beautiful on the field, too. With sweat traveling down the nape of his neck and a tamed ferocity in his gaze. Shiro remembers his fluid movements-- the strength in his tackles and his unabashed sprint towards the goal. He remembers watching the gorgeous man pull the helmet off of his head to reveal tousled black hair (Plastered onto his cheeks in a  _very_ cute fashion.) while the rest hung in a messy, squished bun. 

 

He was doomed the moment Keith had asked to meet him at the end of his practices so they could get right to their assignment. ( _"It runs pretty late. Sorry to make you wait every time._ ") Keith's apologetic expression had filled his stomach with butterflies. There really was no escaping this. 

 

There's no escaping the way his heart jumps over a single thought about Keith.

 

"Shiro?"

 

Shiro blinks, attention flipping back to the concerned man in front of him. ' _Shit_.' Did he start daydreaming  _right in front of the source_? Embarrassment sits on high cheekbones, a blush blooming as the man dressed in black lets out a frail chuckle. "Was thinking about another essay I have to write later this week. Uh.. what did you say?"

 

"Just checking up on you." 

 

 _Just checking up_. From anyone else he'd take it as a casual query due to maintained silence, but Keith's visage speaks otherwise. Keith -- sweet, strong, attentive Keith is someone different. Earnest in ways others have never truly shown towards him. Vivid curiosity to every piercing, every visible tattoo painted onto his form. His choice of fashion. ( _No judgement. Only piqued interest_.) Shiro can't help the small tilt of his lips as he presses his back into the chair, hands reaching up to retie his hair. 

 

The movements come instinctively, long fingers combing through to make sure his crown of black and white are in place. "Getting to the point where my ass is sore from sitting, and my brain is starting to hurt." His comment evokes soft laughter, and suddenly breathing becomes harder. 

 

Shiro can't remember the last time he fell so very hard for someone.

 

"We could take a break. Maybe get food delivered?" Already Keith has his phone pulled out, tapping through. "There's still places around that are open late." His face lights up, and Shiro's heart stops for the fiftieth time that night. "Sal's Pizza is open until one."

 

"Sal's is good."

 

"What kind of pizza?"

 

"Pineapple and sausage." Shiro says it on reflex. Realization hits, and he's sent reeling. "--Kidding. Pineapple. Hah." His little add-on sounded weak, and he hated himself for it. Why did he say that without thinking?  _Of course_ he'd slip up somehow. (What kind of a person ever suggests pineapple  _first_?) 

 

Keith's going to stare at him like he's grown a second head. He's certain of it. He's ruined whatever chances of possible romance he might have had with the only person who makes him swoon and sigh. There's no recovering from this moment. It's all  _over_.

 

"Alright. One large pineapple and sausage pizza." 

 

....Wait,  _what_?

 

Mild confusion creases his brows as he stares at the preoccupied athlete. Keith offers no sound of disgust or any hints of switching the toppings suggested. He barely gets a glance from Keith, who's put his concentration into swiping along his phone's screen. "Oh. You're ... okay with that?"

 

"Sure. Why not?" is Keith's dismissive reply. "How about some sides? You like wings? Pasta?"

 

It's anatomically impossible for a stomach to do ' _flip flops_ ' as others would so rightfully proclaim when they're in love, but Shiro gets it. He completely and utterly understands the phrasing now. His friend's expression of nonchalance and neutrality has him stumbling, and he's fixated on it. 

 

Fixated on Keith's ability to surprise him with every action, every word he speaks. Astounded by his acceptance and stimulated by how the other handles himself. It had been the football player's pretty features that had captured his attention at first glance. Then his gruff, clear voice in a short apology. 

 

And now, this. 

 

Despite it only having been two months since their accidental collide, Keith has managed to crawl into the nooks and crannies of his soul easily and comfortably. Almost as if he had always existed in Shiro's life.

 

Shiro's okay with that.

 

He settles back into his seat with a relieved simper, finger accidentally brushing along the silver chain dangling on his ear as he comes to rub the back of his neck out of habit. "Wings are fine. So is pasta. Order whatever else, and we can split it."

 

"Don't worry about it. I got it covered. I'm ordering online." 

 

"Really? Thanks, Keith. The next one is on me, then." He swears he sees Keith's cheeks turn pink. Shiro blames it on wavering hope. (Why would he be blushing in the first place?) Instead, he elects to stand up with an empty glass in hand and reach over the kitchen island a few feet away to refill it from the filter attached to the sink. His parched throat swallows the cool water in relief, and a puff of satisfaction leaves his mouth.

 

There's the unsettling feeling of someone watching him, and he turns to find the obvious culprit. The acknowledgment didn't seem to deter his companion's stare. If anything, those purple eyes now traversed his form. Shiro flushes, disbelief sending a tingle down the curve of his spine. "Need a refill..?" 

 

He nods his head in the direction of Keith's glass, and only then did his fixed gaze seem to break. His homework buddy shifts in his seat. "Yeah, that'd be good. Great." Shiro takes a few sauntering steps before slouching over just enough to pick the empty glass up comfortably. He doesn't dare to look at Keith the entire way in fear of accidentally meeting pretty violets. It's only when his back is turned and he hears the sound of running filtered water that he tells himself to relax. Unwind.

 

 _Stop thinking about Keith that way_.

 

"Delivery might take a bit. App said it'd be forty-five minutes. Must be all the other students up and studying, too. You okay with me staying this late?"

 

"It's fine with me." He turns to offer his guest a reassuring smile before handing the filled glass over. Their fingers brush, and Shiro feels like his entire hand is on fire. It takes concentrated effort not to pull away so abruptly as to attract attention. Keith doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the interaction. "I don't have any plans for tomorrow. Just a relaxing Saturday. Gym in the early afternoon. What about you? Are you okay to stay this late? Your roommates won't get worried?"

 

"They know where I am." Keith replies curtly. A pause, and he continues. "I already let them know I'd be back late, so they'll leave the top deadbolt unlocked for me." Silence follows while Shiro leans awkwardly back against the counter all the while Keith regards their surroundings. (....What's he supposed to say now?) He's stumped. Any time he's spent with the other so far had always been done with purpose. Class project. Working out. Having the chance to genuinely spend time like this with really nothing in mind but  _spending time_ together has thrown everything for a loop. 

 

Sure, they've spoken to one another about things other than class or gym. Shiro had asked about his roommates before. They've swapped horrifying job stories. Keith has asked about the galaxies on his arm. But all those conversations were had in the midst of other things. Never the center focus. Shiro struggles to maintain a casual conversation, awkward in his movements as he shifts his weight onto the other leg. Keith shows no signs of discomfort, intently listening to every word he says and encouraging the verbal exchange with his own responses. 

 

It's Keith's silent reassurance through lighthearted chatter that keeps him going. (Yet another thing that he enjoys so much about Keith in particular.)

 

"You have a nice place. It's clean." He casts a deliberate gaze back to his seated company. "Even if your roommate has a lot more clutter. Guessing those are all the subscriptions you were talking about." Keith jerks a thumb over to the collection of magazines stacked on top of the coffee table, and Shiro chuckles.

 

"He likes having a physical collection."

 

"And the area's nicer, too. Nicer than the ones directly across from campus."

 

Ah, yes. He remembers Keith mentioning his apartment complex. Easy access, terrible landlord. Loud neighbors. 

 

"Like I said before, we got lucky. Matt managed to snag this place up the moment the previous renters turned in their notice. We  _promised_ we'd be quiet neighbors despite our... _appearances_ , and our minimal renter's history showed we paid timely." Keith nods along. "And neither of us really occupy this space much, anyways. Most of the time, Matt's at the shop or at school."

 

Keith's nose crinkles. "Your appearances..? What's that got to do with anything?"

 

Shiro shrugs. "Paranoia? I guess I don't exactly look like the  _homely_ type. Neither does Matt. They just didn't want any trouble and might have had a few bad experiences with college students."

 

"Still doesn't give them an excuse to treat you like that. Judge you beforehand. You're one of the nicest people I know. And you look amazing." It's surprising to see the perturbed expression cross Keith's visage, his lips pursed in protest. Not that he hasn't had his fair share of friends defending his intricate fashion choices, but coming from someone that makes his heart pound truly makes all the difference.

 

"...Thanks, Keith." The words come out with soft gratitude, a sweet smile lighting up chiseled features. Keith's eyes meet his, and a flush warms his face. The contact is quickly broken by his _study buddy_ , composure cracking. A delicate silence falls over them in Keith's sudden exchange of appreciation. It's not often Shiro hears someone defend him so decisively. 

 

Keith breaks the quiet.

 

"When I first saw the night sky and stars on your arm, I thought it looked beautiful. I'd never seen anything like it before." His voice is lower than before, barely an audible murmur. He keeps his gaze on the blank laptop screen. "I thought...' _Wow, he must really like the stars_.' To get something that intricate -- you must've put a lot of thought to it. You must be someone incredible."

 

Shiro's fixated. Entranced. Unable to look away from the man who's so earnestly speaking of his tattoo as if it were painted onto his own skin. Keith admires the art he's chosen to dedicate along his arm.

 

Shiro admires Keith.

 

Keith's averted violets. Keith's hesitance to meet his eyes despite his assured words. Keith's crown of dark, dark hair that looks soft to touch. Keith.

 

 _Keith, Keith, Keith_.

 

Shiro pushes himself off the counter. Prosthetic palm pressed onto the smooth wooden table cluttered with classwork forgotten. Fingers brush along the seated man's cheek as he leans over to catch sight of gorgeous purple. He isn't disappointed. His breathing hitches, overwhelmed with the sudden urge to close the little proximity that's left between them.

 

He doesn't have to.

 

Somehow, their lips tentatively touch. Unable to control himself any longer, Shiro pushes forward, hand now fully cupping smooth features as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His mouth parts, easing into their demure lip lock as he feels a warm huff along his skin. He resists the urge to whine into their kiss, eyes fluttering shut as he enjoys the moment while it lasts. 

 

It's perfect. Keith feels perfect. He doesn't want to be anywhere else.

 

And it **hits** him what he's done.

 

In a moment of fear, Shiro jerks away with dark eyes wide. Keith's own expression is twisted into one of confusion, nearly stumbling out of the chair. He's certain his entire face is red, all the way to the tips of his ears. He can't believe he led himself into such a compromising position. ( _Why did he do that_ _? What will Keith think of him now?_ ) He's afraid of what will come after.

 

Afraid of how their bond has fractured from an action he failed to withstand. Afraid of rejection. ( ~~ _It still hurts from before_~~.) Keith hasn't stood up and left yet. There's still a chance.

 

"Um, that--"

 

"Sorry." His apology interrupts the words that may threaten to place a scar along his heart if spoken out loud. "I'm, uh -- I don't know what came over me." 

 

What can he say to excuse what he's done? What is there to do to make things right again?

 

"You were talking, and you looked so beautiful in that moment that--" ( _Not helping, **not** helping_.) "Not that it excuses that behavior. I shouldn't have done that. You don't even feel that way abou--!!"

 

A strong grip pulls him in. There's pain as something knocks against his lower lip, gaze widening by a fraction as Keith's features are the closest he's ever seen them. The athlete pulls away, but only enough to reveal his flustered, heated countenance. His shoulders are rigid, heart beating a mile a minute. The corner of his lip aches, and he's  _speechless_.

 

Keith's voice comes out thick and breathy, but it penetrates through.

 

" _I like you_."

 

There's absolute silence within the apartment as he stares down at the man refusing to let him go. Gloved hands gripping onto his arms with no early signs of release. The atmosphere is tense, neither party able to comprehend what had happened in mere minutes. There's a rising blush on Keith's visage, but he doesn't look away from him. He devotes himself into staring intently into Shiro's eyes. Only to break the contact to catch a glimpse of bruised lips and falter from there. "Shit, sorry -- that... wasn't a good kiss."

 

Shiro is  _stunned_. No words can convey the mess of emotions fluttering about in his stomach right now. Despite Keith's determination to convey that his feelings are reciprocated, he still finds it difficult to comprehend what had just happened. The taller man takes a deep breath.

 

He had kissed Keith. Tried to pull away. And Keith kissed him back.

 

....Keith likes him.

 

 **Keith _likes_ him**.

 

He's quiet, deadly still. The shorter man continues to stare up at him with wavering optimism, as if unsure of whether the action he took had been the right one. And a steady giggle parts Shiro's lips, transforming into melodic laughter as his shoulders begin to tremble. Shiro breaks out of his grasp only to wrap his arms around the other in a crushing embrace to alleviate the thick tension. The weight on his shoulders glide off, as if nonexistent. It doesn't take long for Keith to accompany him in this moment of joyous relief, both men on a satisfying high of sweet realization.

 

( _They liked each other_.)

 

Shiro isn't sure why or how or  _when_ \--- but he can't find it in himself to care when something much more significant and pressing is on his mind. He wants to kiss Keith again. He wants to show Keith how much he's come to adore him, and how eager he is to learn everything about him. He wants to let Keith know how incredible of a person he is, how remarkable he is.

 

The doorbell rings.

 

Dark eyes take in Keith's brightened features, lips spread into a breathless smile. Shiro takes this chance to lean forward.

 

"Quick make up kiss before we get the door?"

 

Keith obliges.


End file.
